Unity in Diversity: Embracing Our Shared Humanity

Unity Begins Earlier Than We Think

I was about ten years old when an adult in my world made a racist joke.

I remember the moment clearly—not because of the joke itself, but because of what happened next. I looked at them and, without sarcasm or accusation, asked quietly,
“Do you really believe that Black people are all that different from you?”

The room went still. The person paused. Then they shook their head. Nothing else was said, but the weight of the moment lingered.

I didn’t ask that question because I was brave or enlightened. I asked it because, at that age, the idea simply didn’t make sense to me. The joke didn’t match what I already knew about people.

As children, we enter the world open. We’re wired for connection long before we’re taught separation. We recognize tone before language. We respond to care before categories. We know how to belong before we learn who we’re supposed to fear.

Somewhere along the way, that openness gets shaped. Sometimes gently. Sometimes harshly. Beliefs are modeled. Assumptions are repeated. Lines are drawn. Often not intentionally—but persistently.

That moment stayed with me because it revealed something important: prejudice isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s casual. Unquestioned. Passed along without reflection. And sometimes, it only takes a simple, sincere question to interrupt it.

What We Absorb Before We Can Choose

Much of what we understand about difference is learned early—long before we have the language or authority to challenge it. Children are keen observers. They notice who is welcomed and who is avoided. Who is spoken about with warmth and who is reduced to stereotypes. They pick up on tone, jokes, silences, and side comments.

Adults don’t always realize how much is being absorbed.

But children also have something adults often lose: the ability to ask honest questions without agenda. Questions that aren’t meant to win an argument or make a point—just to understand.

That question I asked didn’t come from a desire to confront. It came from confusion. The story I was being told didn’t align with what I felt to be true: that people are people first.

Beneath Difference, Familiar Ground

We live in a world of extraordinary diversity. Culture, history, language, belief, and experience shape us in meaningful ways. These differences matter. They should be respected. Honored. Learned from.

But difference does not negate similarity.

Beneath the surface, the longings are familiar. To be seen. To be safe. To belong. To love and be loved. To matter.

When we forget that, difference becomes threatening. When we remember it, difference becomes enriching.

Unity doesn’t require sameness. It requires recognition.

The Quiet Power of Questioning

That childhood moment taught me something I’ve seen echoed again and again throughout my life and work: meaningful change doesn’t always come from confrontation. Sometimes it comes from pause.

From asking instead of assuming.
From listening instead of labeling.
From staying curious instead of certain.

Questions don’t have to be sharp to be powerful. They just have to be sincere.

A well-placed question can slow a moment down. It can invite reflection where there was once automatic response. It can create space where something new becomes possible.

Remembering What We Knew First

I’ve come to believe that we are born with an intuitive understanding of connection. We know, early on, that love feels better than separation. That kindness settles the nervous system. That being seen matters.

Life can complicate that knowing. Fear can cover it. Pain can harden it. Culture can distort it.

But it never disappears completely.

Returning to that original knowing isn’t about ignoring difference. It’s about remembering that difference doesn’t cancel humanity.

Living Unity, Not Just Talking About It

Unity isn’t something we declare. It’s something we practice.

It shows up in how we listen.
In how we pause instead of react.
In whether we’re willing to be uncomfortable long enough to understand someone else’s experience.

It doesn’t require perfection. It requires presence.

The world doesn’t need louder declarations of unity. It needs quieter moments of recognition. Small interruptions of old patterns. Honest questions asked without performance.

Sometimes, the most meaningful shifts begin the same way they did for me—as a child, standing in a room, simply asking something that feels true.

Unity begins with listening — not fixing, not debating, just listening.

If you want to deepen your ability to listen to others and to yourself with more clarity and steadiness, my work is rooted in creating space for exactly that.

You can explore it here, if and when it feels right.